


There's just no time to die

by Ruta



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Apologies, F/M, Healing, Parallel Clarke Griffin, Parallel Universes, Radio Calls, Season/Series 07, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24395566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruta/pseuds/Ruta
Summary: "Sometimes I forget that I can talk to you like this." The admission is little more than a whisper, but contains a need that transcends necessity, partly yearning and partly agony. "That I no longer need to imagine you, that I just have to turn around to find you."Six years of radio silence left a scar.“Sometimes I forget you're not dead. For six years I forced myself to learn to live without you. It was like learning to live without my right arm or leg, but I did. When you came back, I had to learn it all over again. I tried to sew the limb I had lost, but it has been too long. It was atrophied and it took a while to adapt to the rest of the body. Does it make the slightest sense?"(The Anomaly isn't a stargate but a portal to a parallel universe.)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 61





	There's just no time to die

**Author's Note:**

> **A few warnings:** Becho break-up is implied and happened offstage because I’m the quintessence of lazy in this fic. I wanted to focus exclusively on Bellarke, and it shows.  
> Radios work. I know they shouldn't work on Alpha, but when I started writing I forgot about this fundamental detail and I should have eliminated some of the scenes that I like best. So, let's call it poetic license or pretend that Raven, like the crazy genius she is, figured out how to make them work despite the Anomaly.  
> Last but not least. The Anomaly here doesn’t act like a Stargate. Months ago, I was re-reading the Chrestomanci cycle where they can move between parallel worlds and it blew my mind. I’d forgotten how much fun and intrinsically interesting were those books.

She is in a clearing.

There is a bonfire and a boy and a girl are sitting in front of it. The boy is tall, blond and tick, he looks like a berserker son of the frost giants, while the girl is small and wiry with a mane of dark curly hair. Both observe her without betraying the slightest reaction, as if the fact that a stranger has just landed in their _tête-à-tête_ didn’t bother them at all.

Their gaze, however, tell a different story. Two pairs of identical eyes wide-open, inside which a flow of secret emotions swirl. They are the colour of the clear sky, more intense than azure and lighter than blue. She has already seen that daring look and while trying to remember where, exactly, after a moment that lasts too little to call it hesitation, the girl invites her to sit with them.

"I’m Livia," she introduces herself and the quality of her melodious voice, slightly guttural, is that of the bards and the romantic poets. When she pronounces the boy's name, "Shell", nickname of Shelley, she nudges him in the side and shrugging, explains that _it’s kind of a family tradition, name someone taking inspiration from dead authors or the family of Roman emperors._

She cannot grasp Shell's answer, his tone is ironic and low –in some inexplicable way she just _knows_ he is mischievous, irreverent and somewhat brazen - but their complicit grins are identical and suggest shared experiences, camaraderie, a consolidated familiarity, friendship, mutual respect and above all love. They remind her of a life she has long lost.

Clarke remains silent and Livia and Shell are polite enough not to point it out and loquacious enough to speak for her too.

Without realizing it, the cold that she felt walking through the woods - deep darkness and foreign stars to keep her company - begins to disperse.

She discovers that they are brother and sister and when they talk about their parents, it’s clear they’re proud of them. They are twenty months apart from each other and when they invite her to try to guess who is the oldest (Livia), she fails spectacularly. She is laughing heartily at something Shell is telling, a surprise that his father - a teacher and a librarian who works as a bookbinder in his spare time - tried to organize for his mother - a healer and the worst cook in the family - and that ended in a tragi-comic hotchpotch.

Then it happens.

 _Clarke_. A breath of wind moves the canopy over their heads, a warm sigh against her cheek. She turns towards the point of the clearing from which she emerged and it seems that the call is coming. She instantly regrets not having brought a weapon with her.

"Did you hear that?" she asks the kids.

Both shake their heads with those piercing blue eyes, their pale and serious faces painted in chiaroscuro.

 _Clarke_ , whispers the voice again and it’s so familiar. She knows she should recognize it. She should be able to remember to whom it belongs. _Clarke. Mom._

She knows who she is, but she doesn't remember her name or her smile or what her favourite colour is.

"I'm sorry. I have to go." Even if she does not yet know the reason or what the destination is.

Shell nods, a hand resting on Livia's shoulder who appears to be on the verge of tears.

"We know," he says with a lopsided smile that she instinctively recognizes. There was a man with a smile and freckles equal to his, the same sense of duty towards his sister. Clarke blinks at the sight, struck by the impending farewell more than she wants to admit to herself. This is madness. It doesn't make the slightest sense that she feels this attachment to two perfect strangers, this -

The buzzing in her ears has become thundering. The outlines of the clearing begin to become less precise, to dilute until they are erased like a painting on which it has been poured over turpentine.

"It's not goodbye," Livia intervenes as if she had read her mind. Her eyes are glassy, but she shows off an expression carved in stone, her mouth reduced to a thin line of stubbornness.

She watches them, these two kids who cannot be more than sixteen, eighteen years old. She watches them and doesn't want to let them go.

"May we meet again," she says. She hopes for it to be really a goodbye and not a farewell.

 _Mom_ , repeats the voice and the lips of the two kids move to formulate the same word. Then they are gone, in a burst of green light and wind.

***

At first, there are sensations. The rough fabric of the sheets that rubs against the skin, the aching muscles that the rest has managed to partially soothe. The echo of the dream still etched in her mind. _A clearing, two kids._

She opens her eyes to discover that she is lying on a cot in the medbay. Madi towers over her and is shaking her gently. "Clarke. You have to wake up."

Suddenly she is fully awake and sitting, her hands resting on the sides of Madi's face while examining if her pupils are dilated, if her pulse is racing, her breathing quickened. "Are you not feeling well? Do you want me to check the bandage-"

"It's not about me." Madi shakes her head in a gesture that is just a little bit annoyed and nods towards the door.

Clarke follows the direction of her gaze. Standing against the wall with her arms crossed and the face of someone who has seen better days - "Echo. When did you come back?"

"Yesterday."

She frowns, trying to collect her thoughts. The last thing she remembers after seeing them leave is Jackson’s insistence to subject her and Madi to a thorough medical examination. While waiting for the results, she followed Madi's example and lay down on the second cot. She had promised herself that it would be only a few minutes to rest her eyes and nothing more. Now she realizes that she has wasted a day, maybe more.

"How long was I out?"

Echo must perceive her discomfort because she surprises her with the following words. "You needed it," she says firmly, not unkindly, and then adds, her voice tinged with concern, "I wouldn't have asked Madi to wake you unless it were urgent."

Suddenly Clarke notes the grim expressions of both and she’s getting a nervous feeling in her stomach. "What happened?" It must be something serious and to have such a reaction it can only mean one thing.

"Octavia has disappeared."

 _Oh_. The relief is instantaneous and stunning, for a moment it makes her tremble so powerful is. In the next one she feels despicable for having feel it, even if it is the truth. Thinks about Bellamy and her heart starts beating like a war drum. "How?"

"The Anomaly took her in front of us."

Clarke nods. She senses that there is something she is omitting. For the moment she decides to focus on what is important, to leave out the rest. "Where's Bellamy?"

The change in Echo's posture is undeniable. The look she gives her communicates sorrow and gratitude. "Follow me."

She does. Part of her almost wishes she hadn't. Seeing him is... _painful_.

***

The first search party returns empty-handed and so does the second and then the third.

Three weeks and ten missions failed later they must come to terms with the reality. Wherever Octavia is, they can't reach her.

The Anomaly doesn’t manifest a second time and the only person who knows anything about it, Hope, couldn’t collaborate even if she wanted to. According to Jackson, it’s a lacunar amnesia and there is nothing they can do. The only cure, paradoxically, is time.

Isn't it ironic? It is always a matter of time for them. A fight against time. The time they never have.

***

"Here," she says and hands him the plate she has set aside for him. "You have to eat something. Doctor's orders."

Initially it was not her intention to remain, not when his desire to be left alone is evident. This time, however, something holds her back. He didn't ask her to stay, but he didn't ask her to leave either. So, she sits next to him without a word, hugging her ankles.

From afar comes the clinking of cutlery and the typical chatter of mealtimes when people gather for a break from building work.

The general mood is still tense, too many factions and clandestine struggles, however every day is better than the one that preceded it and worse than the one that will follow.

Every morning she seems to be able to breathe a little more easily and that her body responds again as if it were entirely hers. (She said goodbye to her mother together with Gaia, buried the remains of the family she was born and raised into. Her family are her daughter and friends, this man who on another planet was her best friend, her other half; that on this moon never stopped fighting for her, that saved her life.)

"Are you going to stare at me the whole time? What will you do next? Will you become my watchdog?"

Clarke doesn’t allow herself to be tarnished by the caustic tone. She has seen and heard worse in the past month. "Only if forced."

"Be careful." Bellamy gives her a reluctant smile. "I might take you up on that."

Afterwards, when the plate is empty and is at their feet, Bellamy's gaze remains stubbornly focused on the wood, beyond the anti-radiation shield.

"She's out there, Clarke. She must be."

"We will find her," she promises. Both know that these are empty words. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Bellamy runs a hand through his hair, and it is a gesture that fully expresses the restlessness and frustration he is feeling for Octavia's situation. "There is no respite for the cursed. Not even one day on the planet and I had already tried to kill you."

"It wasn't your fault, you weren't-"

"Not to mention you died. Damn it, Clarke! It happened again and I didn't do anything to stop them. I wasn't even there. And now this. Fate has a rotten sense of humour."

"Maybe we are the one that don’t have a funny bone," she tries to joke. "Maybe in an alternative universe all of this is entertaining."

"I bet in that universe we all died from an indigestion of jobi nuts.”

Lunch has been over for a time. They should go back to work. Something keeps her there. Something, in Bellamy's stinging words, makes her conscience irk. "Do you really think that? That we're cursed."

He turns his head to look at her in a rare moment of absolute honesty. "Sometimes," he admits. His hands are still raw, his face is no less damaged because he refuses to be looked after. "It's just that - it happened too much and too fast to look like a goddamn coincidence. If this isn't hell, then what is it?"

"It's our life. The only one we know."

"Then maybe it's a life that I’m not interested in. I thought it would be different here, that we could live in peace."

"We will, Bellamy. You must believe it."

"The problem is precisely that." He has got up and is wiping the back of his pants. "I don’t think I can anymore."

Clarke watches him walk away, fighting against the urge to follow him. The truth is that she no longer knows if she can either.

***

"We have to talk," Raven says, appearing in the medbay without warning.

It’s a day like any other. Jackson is with Miller and the silence around her is comfortable and put her at ease. There is only one patient, a man with an ankle sprain to whom she prescribed absolute rest for another five days before returning to work. This is the reason why she decided making an inventory of the stocks and rearranging the first aid kits.

Clarke looks up from the bandages she is rolling. "I thought we were already talking."

"You know what I mean."

Starts placing the sterilized bandages in the appropriate container. "Now?"

Raven's eyes are unnerving, they always have been. Right now, they are even more than usual. She crosses her arms over her chest in the belligerent approach that distinguishes her. "Do you have anything else to do?"

Clarke looks around discreetly as she seeks any excuse to postpone that confrontation the outcome of which she could not bet on. Her eyes meet those of Dorak and she could swear to have seen a spark of amusement in his. _Fantastic._ She is always happy to make a spectacle of herself.

"Stop it," Raven reprimands her, acknowledging her escape attempt for exactly what it is. "Whatever it is, it can wait. I know it’s hard to believe, but the world will go on for five minutes even without you."

"Listen to the little Pauna, _fisa_ ," Dorak intervenes from the bed. He isn't even pretending not to eavesdrop. "I swear, your people look pissed off all the time.”

It's also your people, she thinks, barely refraining herself from pointing it out. "That's enough, Dorak," she replies instead, pointing a finger at him, "or I might decide to extend your stay by another five days."

Dorak mimics the gesture of closing his mouth and Clarke rolls her eyes good-naturedly before turning back to Raven.

Now that she has her full attention, Raven seems the first not to be ready for that conversation, to the point that Clarke has to give her a little push in the right direction. "You wanted to talk," she reminds her, eyebrow raised. "Then talk."

Raven remains silent, but since asking her to stay still is pure utopia - her body is like her mind, always active and cranky, perpetually tense in the search of an answer to the unknown factor of yet another question, all static electricity and nervous craving, pure power – she begins to fiddle with one of the bandages that she has not yet stowed away. Her hair is tied in a ponytail and who knows where she found a red jacket. She is so similar to the picture that accompanied her in the six years spent alone with Madi after Praimfaya that Clarke swallows hard over the lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Raven blurts out. "For the way I treated you and the things I said. That doesn't make them any less true, but it's the way I said them that was wrong. I wanted to hurt you."

"Raven-"

"No, let me finish." She raises a hand; her fiery gaze hushes her. Not for the loathing it contains, but for the opposite reason, because it is devoid of it. "I was angry with you. I still am, but I was mostly angry with myself. I didn't want to admit it. Hating you was so much easier than the alternative. I experienced what it’s like to be you. I lived one day as Clarke and no offence, but I didn't like it at all. We could have ended the war." Raven must notice her surprise because she makes a face. "Me and Murphy. When Bellamy came to save you. If only I had been strong enough to press a damn button. I didn't have the courage."

Now she remembers. The electric discharge of the shock collar. Crouched on the ground while counting the seconds between one jolt and the next, trying not to scream not to give them that satisfaction. The headlights of the rover aimed at her and then, like a hallucination, Bellamy's profile stood out in her field of vision, narrowing it to a mere framework, making the rest of the world unimportant. His voice proposing a deal. 283 lives in exchange for hers.

"You did good." She forces herself not to touch her throat to make sure she is naked. It is. There is no longer any collar. The pain she feels is only an echo, a memento. "Choosing not to walk that path requires courage, especially knowing that you are risking the people you love as well as yourself."

Raven's face is hard and unwavering. "You and Bellamy did it."

Yes, and what was the price? Wanheda was born. She lowers her head, unable to support her judgmental stare.

"I don't regret what I did, but there isn’t a day that I don’t ask myself if there was another way. I killed Maya, I broke Jasper's heart, but I saved you, my mother, Kane, and this must mean something. It doesn't make me a better person, but I learned to live with the monster inside me. We are all monsters if we let fear decide for us. You didn't let it decide for you. I'm proud of you for that." She raises her chin. She is not the only one to feels like she’s about to cry.

Raven pulls her into a hug. "I missed you."

Clarke starts breathing again. Ghosts recede. Returns the embrace with the despair of a castaway. "I missed you too."

***

The air retains the last remnants of heat of the day. The stars are bright, and the night sky is a view of rare and evocative beauty.

Sitting on the roof with Bellamy, Clarke thinks back to the evening they’ve just spent. They organized a barbecue, and everyone seemed at ease, if not happy at least relaxed. (Happiness is an abstract, dreamlike idea, difficult to conceptualize and even more to manage.) Jordan even smiled on a couple of occasions when they began to tell anecdotes of the first months spent on Earth at the dropship.

For the first time since their arrival the change seemed concrete, real, tangible. They are creating the world they have always dreamed of and despite the unresolved issues, the traumatic experiences they are still trying to overcome, the mourning for her mother, the concern for Octavia, they are healing. Moving forward is possible.

It was a lovely day and Bellamy's easy-going expression is a proof of that.

Maybe it's not the right time, maybe she should just enjoy the moment. Maybe.

One of the most important lessons that war has taught her, however, is precisely that we must seize the moment if possible. She no longer wants to live on regrets, torn apart by doubts. So, she starts talking.

"I heard you. While I was stuck in my mind and struggling against Josephine to regain control, I heard every word you said."

Bellamy doesn’t turn. In the half-light he looks like an ancient Greek statue bathed by the natural reflection of the night sky and the smoky glow of the few candles scattered around them. But Clarke notices the way he tilted his head towards her, that he stopped looking at the stars. He seems a man ready to go into battle, who is only waiting for his commander's order.

Clarke takes a deep breath. She has to choose the next words carefully. What she is about to say will distort the current _status quo_. "You're wrong, you know. You don't need me."

There it is. The emotional impact she hoped to avoid. The silent blast. All enclosed in Bellamy's eyes, mercurial and liquid for the stimuli that move inside. His strangled voice pronouncing her name. "Clarke-"

She knew it would be difficult, however there are essential pains, some that are a necessity. It's time to cut the dry branches, detach from the regrets of the past to focus on the present, not on what they have been forced to do by the circumstances. Begin the healing process by separating once and for all from impossible choices, the unforgivable actions, the blood on their hands, the waking nightmare that has been their life.

Clarke breathes beyond the emotions that have taken place in her chest. "I don't need you either," she says, every word hurts like she's trying to breathe in a dust storm. "The past six years have shown us exactly that. We can live without each other."

Bellamy's silence itself is an answer. In his tacit assent he seems to confirm the irrefutable truth of what she has just said. Clarke lets the tears fall, dried by the breeze that suddenly seems freezing.

"Despite this, I want to need you. I don't need you because I can't live without you. We are both stubborn enough to be able to do it. I'm saying _I don't want to do it_. I'm no longer willing to accept a life where you are not part of my family."

He doesn’t leave her waiting and his voice is a little hoarse too. Painful truths have this effect. "I can't lose you again," she hears him say and the night is a little less dark and the wind less unpleasant.

She would like to touch him, she would like –

 _Not yet_ , says a voice inside her. _Not yet._ She clenches her hands into fists, pushing away the shredding desire and the aching hunger inside her "You didn't," she reassures him. "You found me. You saved me, Bellamy."

"You make it so damn difficult."

They are close enough that their legs touch each other. Given the proximity she can perceive the heat radiated from his body. It would take her so little to grab his hand, squeeze it in hers and never let it go. She blinks and smiles. Her vision is blurry. The moment has already passed.

"I try not to be boring," she answers, and the sound of Bellamy's throaty laughter is the first step, the demonstration that all is not lost. They’re still breathing so there is still hope. "You're the one who keeps me in line."

***

"What the hell happened in there?" she says as soon as they are out of earshot from the rest of the group. "We had a plan, or did you forget?"

Of course, she followed him. He had expected this reaction. She is angry and the fury makes her more like the woman she was on Earth, unyielding and reckless, with that halo of pulsating light that shone all around her every time they collided because they found themselves on two opposite fronts, two ideas of thought at the antipodes.

He shouldn't miss those days, the people they were. This doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when he experiences an acute nostalgia. This is one of those moments. He tries to ignore the tearing yearning to reach that girl, buried under rubble, melancholy, and years of solitude. Instead, he focuses on the annoyance he feels for the woman in front of him, identical to what she is showing towards him.

"I'm not the one suffering from short-term memory," he grunts.

He must have caught her off guard. "What are you talking about?"

Her obliviousness of what she has done is appalling. It only serves to increase the grudge he feels. Of all the stupid and crazy actions she has done in the past, this one does not even come close to many others and despite this he has never before faced this bitterness, this totalizing panic. Because now, unlike then, he knows what he would feel if she died. It broke him not once, but twice already.

"Did you really think I'd let you do it?" Knowing the answer is fundamental. "Taking part in a potentially dangerous trip where your presence is not required?"

Clarke takes a step back, struck by the vehemence and impetus with which he attacked her, and he feels a sort of vengeful joy. A shadow falls on her face like a guillotine, then she straightens her shoulders, again sure of herself and her opinions, indifferent to what it entails for her own safety, to what that carelessness means _to him_. "It is important that I go in case someone gets injured."

Bellamy cannot accept such a motivation. "That's why there are first aid kits."

"A kit is of little use if you do not have the necessary medical skills to carry out the procedures. Do you really want to risk the lives of seven men just to not endanger my safety?"

"Just for your safety," he repeats incredulously, disgusted. She can't be serious. She can't be so blind to not have understood. "You are the only doctor we have."

"You’re forgetting Jackson."

"Fine," he barks and walks the few steps that separate them. His head could explode at any moment. "Then if it's so fucking necessary for a doctor to accompany them I'll send Jackson!"

She does not flinch and her eyes blaze with the same overwhelming passion of the past when they fought for the hundred at the dropship. "Jackson is indispensable and is needed here. I’m not. The most logical choice is to send me, not him. Why can't you accept it?"

The sky-blue of her eyes is impossibly close and suggestive, preventing him from noticing any other detail. He runs a hand over his face and takes a step back before committing something ridiculous and irreversible. "I don't intend to have this conversation."

Obviously, it is too much to hope for a minimum of understanding on her part. Clarke is not the type of person who doesn't take advantage of an opening when she sees one.

"I think we should," she insists. "We put it off too long if we got to the point where you belittle me in front of others."

"So that's the problem." He shakes his head, bursting into a bitter laugh. "You don't want to be contradicted."

She recoils with obvious shock. "You know that's not true," she whispers, biting her lower lip. " _You know_."

Fuck. Will it ever end? Will he ever stop saying and doing the wrong thing with her for the right reasons? Even while trying to protect her, all he gets is the opposite effect. He is not good at words. He never has been unless it is a matter of inciting speeches. Reassuring is Clarke's competence, everything that falls within the emotional sphere was. He moves when he sees her turn her back on him and get away from him as if there is nothing else to add, when both know perfectly well that it is the exact opposite.

"I just got you back!”

Clarke stops and turns with exasperating slowness. "What?"

He cannot decipher the look in her eyes. He puts it aside it to do it later.

"You heard me," he grits his teeth. "I can't let it happen, not again. Twice I let you walk away from me, do things your way and I’ll be damned if I’ll make the same mistake. Even if that means being hated by you for the rest of our lives."

Clarke does not look away and there is something cryptic in the way she is staring at him. As if she doesn't believe what she's seeing. In the end, she covers the space that separates them and tenderly, as if she were afraid that he will not allow it, she puts her hand around his, intertwining their fingers.

"I'm not going to deliberately put myself in danger," she murmurs with her head bowed and he must try to concentrate on what she is saying and not on her destabilizing proximity, on the fire he feels under his skin, like a tingling that propagates from where she's touching him. "I care about my life as much as anyone else. If I say I can take the risk, it’s because I think I can do it."

He would like to believe her, really. As if sensing his hesitation, she tilts her head back to look him straight in the eye. Hers are tear-filled and sad, but also determined and steadfast and take his breath away for the myriad of emotions they contain, for what she is asking for.

"You have to choose whether to be afraid for me or trust me."

When she walks away and leaves, he doesn't follow her.

***

It also happened in the past. Significant moments that, however, have never led to anything concrete.

Not this time. This time they are building something, one step at a time, one stone after another. So much so that in the end it will be like crossing a bridge to go home at the end of a long, exhausting journey.

***

"It'll just be two weeks. Three at most."

Three? These were not the agreements. He is about to point this out, but Clarke beats him on time. "Okay, two."

She rolls her eyes, but her mouth is arching in that smile that is always easier to see and that he has learned to associate with the rare moments of quiet. Not that he’s collecting them or anything like that.

"I have something for you," she says and takes something out of her jacket.

Bellamy twitches his eyebrows and puts his hands in the pockets. There is a strand of hair that has escaped the braid and his fingers quiver to fix it. "A gift? So now you’re trying to bribe me?”

His smug grin disappears the moment he sees what Clarke is offering him.

"It's a radio," he says, picking it up. Sometimes it is worth repeating the obvious, especially if it helps to make her less nervous. Clarke wasn't sure how he would react, that's clear, but his reaction must have reassured her.

"That way we'll stay in touch," she explains. "I asked Raven to create a private channel. She put it on a protected frequency. We will be the only ones to use it."

"And Raven’s agreed?"

Clarke shrugs, clearly amused by the information she is about to share, her eyes bright and carefree. "She said she prefers not to be forced to hear you swear at my every misstep and see you go through her workshop like a madman."

It is a detailed and truthful image of the two weeks that await him, which is why he cannot participate to her hilarity.

He sighs, tightening his grip around the radio. "Clarke-"

"We will talk every day," she interrupts him with that calmness that every now and then has driven him crazy. "You won't even notice I’m not here."

"I doubt it," he replies softly and then, in a titanic effort, tries to joke, "I’ve grown accustomed to have you breathing down my neck."

Since he is an idiot and that’s well established, he tucks that damned lock behind her ear. His fingers linger a moment longer than necessary against her forehead, mindful of a similar moment. The mind plays tricks on him. (It is always like this between them. In the present constant memories of the past and the chilling uncertainty that the tomorrow holds. Every time he sees her it could be the last. _Every fucking time_.)

"You’re one to talk. You're a thorn in my side."

"Sick of me already?" Finally, he smirks and believes her. The joy on her face is contagious and is almost painfully apparent.

Clarke's smile shines more than the two suns. "Never," she says, and it sounds like a promise.

He is tempted to do something ridiculous again. Containing himself is becoming practically impossible, especially when the same hunger is reflected in the way she looks at him, when Clarke licks her lips like now and -

"I have to go," he hears her say reluctantly. "They’re waiting for me."

He nods sharply. "Be careful." He wishes that his anguish is not too obvious.

"I always do. Quit being such a mother hen."

He snorts. "Big words, coming from another mama bear."

They are smiling again as if they were the only inhabitants of the planet, as if they had all the time at their disposal, with that hope in which it has become increasingly easy to believe, especially given that there are no cataclysms or wars on the horizon to ruin the hard-won peace.

Clarke looks over her shoulder at the group ahead. Among them, upon Bellamy's binding request, there is also Gabriel. He is watching them and when their eyes meet, he raises a hand in greeting. Bellamy greets him in turn.

"I really have to go," Clarke repeats, beginning to show signs of impatience. "Will you take care of Madi for me?"

They don't pretend they don't know how important this request is in the relationship of trust they are rebuilding.

Bellamy isn't sure he can speak normally so he just nods with a terse, "Sure."

Before he can process what's going on, she has leaned forward and is embracing him with all the fervour that he now instinctively associates to her. The quiet strength of courage and the burden of responsibility, the dignity of those who have been thrown into the mud too many times to keep count and who has risen on their own legs every time.

Something inside his chest seems to clench and then swell as he wraps an arm around her waist, stroking her back with one hand.

He rests his head on her shoulder and rubs his nose against her neck, trying as usual to imprint the unexpected softness of her skin and that harsh and sweet scent that is typically Clarke. Yet another demonstration of the oxymoron that this woman remains in his eyes.

When she untangles herself from the embrace, Clarke cannot meet his eyes, as if she is embarrassed.

He grins and Clarke hits him on the shoulder. "See you in two weeks then."

"Stay in touch."

"And you answer."

He watches her go and even when she has disappeared, he continues to observe the sun dawn on the forest, shining through the branches of trees in splinters of light.

***

"Bellamy?"

If he closes his eyes, he can see her as if she were in front of him. Her head tilted to one side, biting her lower lip as she forces herself to calm down.

"Do you copy?"

Despite the static, he easily recognizes the feelings she's trying to keep at bay. The same ones are pressing against his rib cage, making it difficult for him to speak.

"Clarke," he says. He wonders if this is what was like for her. Wait day and night next to a radio turned on for a sort of miracle to happen. Hoping, praying, fighting against all common sense.

He hears her breathing and when she speaks, he can physically feel the smile in her voice. "Have you already blown up something in my absence?"

"Very funny," he replies, but he is smiling, and he bets that she knows it, that is exactly the reaction she intended to get. "Where are you?"

"We are moving north-east. We had to make a slight detour. Today we covered about 15 miles."

He frowns and, making a quick calculation, looks for where she must be on the map in front of him. "You're a little behind schedule."

"We were slowed down by unexpected difficulties, including some torrential rain," she answers, slippery and elusive. Enough to put him on alert.

"What kind of difficulties?"

"Nothing that we couldn't handle."

Again, that tone. He recognizes it and curses quietly. "Clarke."

He hears her sigh, but it's not an enraged noise, it's rather an exasperated sigh that still manages to keep a trace of fondness. “Trust me, Bellamy. Can you?"

He loosens and tightens his grip around the radio. "You know I do." Does she still have the slightest doubt?

"Good," she says, and her voice sounds strangled. Clarke clears her throat. The next moment she sounds pragmatic and imperious. "Now tell me how your day went and don't leave anything out."

"Do you mean like you?" he asks, teasing her. “Unlike you, nothing particularly exciting happened. Except when Raven decided to get Murphy's knickers in a twist."

"Really?"

“I would never kid about this. You should have seen his face. It was gold."

"I can't believe I missed it."

"Don't worry," he reassures her. "This sort of thing is recurring between those two."

He doesn’t understand how it is possible to know a person to the point of identifying even in the hesitations between one breath and the other the emotions she is feeling, figure out the weave of her thoughts.

"Was it also on the Ring?"

He knows how much it must have cost her to ask him and hates the fact that she's not there. He would like to embrace her, he would like –

"Not at first. The first year was tough on everyone. From the second things started to improve. They weren't happy but had accepted the situation and decided to make the most of it."

"They?"

He frowns. "What?"

"You said 'they'. What about you? Where were you?"

 _Mourning you_. “Let's say my healing process lasted longer than theirs. It was not easy. Decide to lead a normal life, don't be overwhelmed by - but we made it. We built something up there. It wasn't perfect, but it was one of the best things that could have happened to us. We had a taste of peace."

"I'm glad you weren't alone."

 _Bloody hell_. "Clarke-"

“No, let me finish, please. To believe that you had survived and that you were not alone was what allowed me to go on at the beginning."

"And then you found Madi."

"And then I got Madi," she confirms. “You should have seen her, Bellamy. A wild and brave little thing. When we first met, she led me into a bear trap. She was only six years old and had survived alone for nearly two months, surrounded by the corpses of all the people in her village, her family. It took me three days to give them a proper burial."

The image he has just obtained from her first months after Praimfaya exceeds negatively all his previous expectations. It’s all too easy to recreate the scene in his mind. Seeing her drag the bodies and stacking them in neat rows, digging a mass grave large enough to contain them all so as not to separate them.

"Why didn't you burn them?"

"After Praimfaya, I guess I unconsciously started to associate the idea of destruction with fire." Her answer breaks his heart. “I didn't want that kind of ending for them. They were peaceful people. Farmers, not warriors. Burying them in the ground, in the last remaining green corner of the planet, seemed appropriate."

_Do not stand at my grave and weep_

_I am not there. I do not sleep. […]_

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_

_I am not there. I did not die._

"Clarke? You're still there?"

"I'm here," she responds immediately.

They should stop talking now. Another day’s trek awaits her tomorrow. He should let her rest. "It's getting late."

"It is."

"Tomorrow-"

"Can you see the stars?" she interrupts him. “Where are you, can you see them? They are so different here."

"Not as much as you think."

"I was talking about the positions they occupy in the sky." He knows she wrinkled her nose. "I still can't get used to it."

"We’re not the kind of people who like the change."

“Not even if it's for the best? Sometimes I have the impression that I am still on earth. I am afraid that it is a hallucination and that I will wake up in the desert alone. Without Madi, without any of you."

It’s a fear he can understand. It is the same that assails him too.

"Sometimes I dream of the dropship," he admits, "when you still hated me."

“I never hated _you_. I hated the kind of person you claimed to be. Someone without a morality and without a heart."

"You always wanted to see the good in people."

"My intuition wasn’t wrong with you."

"Do you ever miss those days?"

She doesn't answer right away. It's one of the many things he loves about her. The seriousness and sincerity that she commits to their nightly conversations. “Would it be so strange if I said that I do? Now everything seems easier than it seemed back then."

"We were so young."

She bursts out laughing. "You didn't have a beard."

"You didn't have a daughter."

"Sometimes I forget that I can talk to you like this." The admission is little more than a whisper, but contains a need that transcends necessity, partly yearning and partly agony. "That I no longer need to imagine you, that I just have to turn around to find you."

Six years of radio silence left a scar.

“Sometimes I forget you're not dead. For six years I forced myself to learn to live without you. It was like learning to live without my right arm or leg, but I did. When you came back, I had to learn it all over again. I tried to sew the limb I had lost, but it has been too long. It was atrophied and it took a while to adapt to the rest of the body. Does it make the slightest sense?"

He hears her try to hide a sniffle. He is having the same struggles right now. His vision is blurred, and his heart is in turmoil.

"It does to me."

That’s all that matters.

***

"What was it like to live with her?"

Madi lifts her head from her drawing.

Bellamy is trying not to stare too much. The Clarke in the sketch was never his. She is Wanheda. It is the Clarke who belonged to Lexa. There was a time when she was entirely his, when she could have become his and that was in the interlude between the destruction of the City of Light and the advent of Praimfaya.

"You don’t know?" Madi asks and he wonders how he could have missed her incredible resemblance to Clarke before. Not physically. It is something that transcends the mere physical appearance. It is in the gestures, in the way she speaks and moves, in which she tilts her head to one side and raises her chin, in the lively expression of her eyes that are all too discerning. She is Clarke's daughter in every way.

He feels taken aback, held in place exactly as it happens only with her. "I thought so. Now I’m realizing how little time I had with her. I thought I knew her, but what we were doing was dragging us from one battlefield to another, tragedy after tragedy. I always thought that we would have time after saving the world. I kept telling myself every time something horrible happened and we were forced to make impossible choices." _Next time I will tell her, next time I will stop procrastinating._ He clenches his hands into fists. "Until it was too late, until-"

Madi doesn't blink. "Until you thought she was dead."

He would laugh if the situation weren't so absurd. “I know Clarke’s wars because they are the same that I fought. Still, her days of peace belong to you, kiddo. I have no part in them."

"It doesn't have to be that way."

"That ship has sailed."

"You could fight." Madi frowns. It is not exactly anger that shines through her face, not even disappointment. She is mature beyond her years. "For her. For both of you."

"We are different people compared to who we were once."

"I grew up with Clarke's stories about you." Madi looks away from him, traces the outline of Clarke's face with her thumb. Her eyes seem to contain the answer to a question he has not yet asked. “No matter how difficult or disheartening the situation seemed, you two always found a solution. Always. You compensate each other. Together you are strong and fearless, separated you fall prey to your weaknesses. Do you know why things went so badly in the Valley?"

He shakes his head and sees the hint of a smile peeking over his lips. “Because the roles have reversed, and the change has shaken the dynamics you were used to. For six years you have been trying to think like Clarke and Clarke did the same. She chose to listen to her heart; you chose to respect the last memory you had of her."

"Since when did you become so wise?"

Madi doesn't smile anymore, her expression becomes remote and inaccessible. “There are moments when I can still hear them in my head, stirring like restless spirits. They were all impressed with what you and Clarke did to survive. Heroic accomplishments and deeds to acclaim in the centuries to come. There was someone who was not of the same opinion. Lexa was jealous of you. Why do you think she was? Your heart is in the right place. It's your head that isn't."

The head and the heart, he thinks. It is at that very moment that he decides. As soon as he sees her, it will be the first thing he does. Finally admit what has been under everyone's eyes for years. Not allow the fear of what might happen to undermine the happiness that could instead result from a risky move. Nothing lasts forever, but they proved there is something that is and it’s them.

***

Obviously, that's when things go incredibly wrong. Bellamy squeezes the radio and manages to control his panic. Usually Clarke answers right away, but it doesn't have to mean anything. It is his third attempt to get in touch with her, but even that doesn't mean anything.

"Clarke?" he tries again.

"Bellamy," replies a voice that definitely isn’t Clarke's.

Fear is a snare tied around his throat. "Gabriel. Where's Clarke?"

Gabriel delays and Bellamy just wants to destroy something. He knew he shouldn't have let her go, but Clarke was adamantine, and this perhaps remains the biggest problem: his inability to say no to her. Gabriel's answer is far too diplomatic for his taste. "She can't answer at the moment."

"Give me your location," he snarls.

"I don’t think-"

“I don't give a damn what you think! I want your fucking location and I want it right now!"

"Bellamy," another voice intervenes, and Bellamy starts breathing again.

"Clarke. What the hell happened?"

"Nothing irreparable."

"What does that even mean? Where were you before? Clarke. Tell me you where you are. I’ll catch up with you."

"You cannot."

"Of course, I can. I-"

"No, listen to me." Her voice is all that shouldn't be anymore. "Even if you came, it would be too late."

His heart starts beating a little faster. He looks around frantically. He must go. He must reach her. "What are you saying?"

"I-" he can practically hear her weeping and it’s tearing him apart. “I'm sorry, Bellamy. I know I promised you, but I don't think I can keep it. Not this time."

He staggers. "Where are you? _Please_ , Clarke. Tell me where you are."

"There's one thing I want you to know-"

"No, not like that," he interrupts her and is furious as he has never been before. Because that's not how it was supposed to go. "Don’t you dare. This is not the end."

“The Anomaly is near. I can feel it coming. The sky is burning with it. I can see it beyond the trees. It is strange to think that something so dangerous has such beauty. Have you ever heard of the Northern Lights? I bet that it was so. Terrifyingly beautiful.”

He squeezes his eyes and presses a fist against his forehead. "I can't say goodbye."

"Then don't." Her voice is barbed wire.

"And Madi? What about her? You can't do this to her. It will break her heart." _Like you’re breaking mine._

"She will be fine. She will have you and an entire family of people who will love her."

“But she won't have _you_. Clarke, if this is the last chance to say it-"

"No, you were right. We cannot-"

"I love you," he says and hears her sharp intake of breath. "I love you and I need you. I _want_ to need you. Tell me where you are. Please, Clarke."

He counts the seconds before she answers and it's the longest five seconds of his life.

“Behind Gabriel's tent. Bellamy? Hurry up."

**Author's Note:**

> Imagination is the door to freedom and everyone should be left free to dream and imagine the characters they read as they see fit, but for me Livia looks like Kaya Scodelario in Maze Runner while Shell is George MacKay with longer hair.


End file.
